


Worthy Adversaries

by manic_intent



Category: Ginga Eiyuu Densetsu | Legend of the Galactic Heroes
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, M/M, That modern AU where Reuenthal and Yang are next-door neighbours
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:47:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25689061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: The quiet calm of the neighbourhood had a certain horror film aesthetic. Bright and sun-drenched, near-identical happy families everywhere, homes in white and pastel and brick, a far cry from the orderly chaos of a military base. Colonel Oskar von Reuenthal surveyed his new digs critically as the removalists brought the last of the boxes into the corner townhouse. Not for the first time, Reuenthal questioned his decision to follow Mittermeier into taking up a new posting over in the Pentagon rather than staying in operations.A white blur sped past Reuenthal’s legs, through the open door of his house. Reuenthal’s hand dropped to his hip for a service piece that wasn’t there. A dog? He started for the house, hesitating as a young Chinese man scrambled out of the neighbouring townhouse, harried and out of breath.
Relationships: Oskar von Reuenthal/Yang Wenli
Comments: 6
Kudos: 61





	Worthy Adversaries

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cookiewooga](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cookiewooga/gifts).



> For cookiewooga via beingevil: gift prompt 1/2: Modern Day AU, Neighbours, Reuyang: Reuenthal moves into the neighbourhood and becomes Yang’s next-door neighbour. Bonus: runaway Admiral shenanigans: he runs into Reuenthal’s home, and Yang has to knock on Reu’s door to get him back. 
> 
> I thought for a while about whether to make the modern prompts reference the current pandemic or not, but felt that would be too depressing right now.

The quiet calm of the neighbourhood had a certain horror film aesthetic. Bright and sun-drenched, near-identical happy families everywhere, homes in white and pastel and brick, a far cry from the orderly chaos of a military base. Colonel Oskar von Reuenthal surveyed his new digs critically as the removalists brought the last of the boxes into the corner townhouse. Not for the first time, Reuenthal questioned his decision to follow Mittermeier into taking up a new posting over in the Pentagon rather than staying in operations. 

A white blur sped past Reuenthal’s legs, through the open door of his house. Reuenthal’s hand dropped to his hip for a service piece that wasn’t there. A dog? He started for the house, hesitating as a young Chinese man scrambled out of the neighbouring townhouse, harried and out of breath. 

“Sorry… very sorry. Did you see a cat go past?” the man asked. On closer inspection, he wasn’t as young as Reuenthal thought. Reuenthal’s age, perhaps, in his thirties, but soft-cheeked and with a gentle, smooth-shaven face crowned with untidy black hair. American, dressed in a wrinkled white shirt and old grey track pants.

“I saw something run into my house,” Reuenthal said. 

“Oh, hell.” The man took a step toward Reuenthal’s door, drew himself short, and laughed, scratching at his sideburns. “Um, if it’s all right. I’ll get Admiral and. Sorry?” 

A cat called Admiral? Reuenthal inclined his head and followed his neighbour into the house. They found Admiral in a corner of the living room, scratching busily at a cardboard box marked ‘Fragile’: the one full of wine. The little monster yowled in protest as the neighbour scooped him up. 

“Sorry about that. Ah. You’re the new neighbour? Nice to meet you. Everyone calls me Yang.” Yang stretched out a hand. 

“Oskar,” Reuenthal said. Yang had a firm handshake, something that Reuenthal usually appreciated. Pity about the cat hair. 

As Reuenthal dusted his palm discreetly off his flank, Yang studied him more closely. “Colonel Oskar von Reuenthal?” Yang asked.

“That’s right,” Reuenthal said, surprised. He didn’t think himself well-known in civilian circles. Unless. “You work in the Pentagon?” The Pentagon had a small army of civilian staffers in admin. 

“Sort of, yes,” Yang said with a vague wave of his hand. “See you around, Colonel. Sorry about the cat.” He ducked his head and wandered off before Reuenthal could ask any further questions. A staffer in Reuenthal’s department, perhaps, embarrassed by the antics of his pet. Reuenthal watched Yang go and soon forgot about it. There were boxes to unpack and wine to drink, and an ugly drive to work tomorrow.

#

Yang’s battered old Volvo was still in the driveway when Reuenthal drove out for the Pentagon. Was the man planning to be late, or was discipline in the Pentagon laxer than Reuenthal imagined? He kept an eye out for his untidy neighbour through the day, but the Pentagon was a vast warren teeming with people. Besides, as a new member of the Joint Staff, Reuenthal had enough on his plate without trying to police his neighbour’s work ethic.

Reuenthal frowned when he noticed Yang’s car still in the driveway when he got home: it hadn’t moved, as far as he could tell. Maybe Yang had taken a sick day? As Reuenthal parked, Yang’s door opened, and a tall, handsome man in uniform emerged. A naval Commander, judging by his sleeve, and one who’d seen a lot of active service. The Commander hesitated as he saw Reuenthal get out of the car and saluted. “Colonel,” he said. 

“At ease, Commander,” Reuenthal said. He nodded at Yang’s house. “Is Yang ill?” 

The Commander grimaced as Reuenthal said Yang’s name, frowning. “Why do you say that?” he asked, oddly belligerent.

“Just a thought,” Reuenthal said, surprised at the Commander’s tone. Technically, as an Army Colonel, he outranked the Commander. “His car hasn’t moved all day.” 

“And so?” Again with that strange defensiveness. 

Reuenthal frowned. “What’s your name, Commander?” 

The front door opened. Yang emerged in rumpled clothes, glancing between them and patting the Commander on his shoulder. “Go on, Walter, go,” he told the Commander. “I’ll handle this.” 

“But—” the Commander protested. 

“Shoo. Go.” Yang folded his arms. Grumbling, the Commander shot Reuenthal one final dirty look before driving off. Yang chuckled. “Sorry about that. Navy, eh?” 

A lover? That would explain Yang’s vagueness and the Commander’s attitude. “It’s none of my business,” Reuenthal said.

“I was about to drive out to get something to eat if you haven’t,” Yang suggested. “My treat? Since you’re new to the neighbourhood.” 

“I’ll change.” 

Yang chose an izakaya tucked away in a narrow alley between a gym and a bookstore. Stepping into it felt like walking right back into Osaka, with its familiar scents, crowded tables, dim lighting and shelves of sake and shochu bottles and casks. The staff greeted Yang with the enthusiastic familiarity that they likely reserved for regulars, ushering them to a table near the bar. As they sat, Yang said, “Ah, I forgot to ask if you were all right with Japanese food or had allergies.”

“It suits me fine,” Reuenthal said. He ordered shochu, while Yang opted for a glass of umeshu—something usually too sweet for Reuenthal’s taste. After they picked several dishes to share, Reuenthal said, “What do you do at the Pentagon?” 

Yang looked at him in mild surprise. “You don’t know?” 

“Why should I?”

“Aren’t you also on the Joint Staff?” 

“Today was my first day,” Reuenthal said, annoyed. 

Yang laughed, holding up his palms as a small bowl of edamame arrived. “All right, all right. Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply anything. Eat, eat.” 

Despite Reuenthal’s doubts, the food turned out to be surprisingly authentic. Crisp cubes of agedashi tofu snowed under by bonito in thick gravy, delicate tempura in perfectly deep-fried light batter—with the correct sauce, served with grated radish—slippery udon noodles in velvety soup, even a decent sashimi platter. Yang sidestepped any attempt to talk shop and drew Reuenthal into an expansive discussion about wine instead, even though Reuenthal was reasonably sure that it was a topic that Yang had little personal interest in. It still put Reuenthal in a pleasant enough mood that he was inclined to go halves, only to find out that Yang had sneakily paid for the bill when he’d excused himself to use the bathroom.

“Said it was my treat,” Yang told him in the car when Reuenthal protested. 

“I don’t think I’ve seen someone go to such lengths to avoid having to split the bill.” 

“That? That was nothing. You should see what my relatives do when they invite each other out for a meal. The military could take lessons from their games of subterfuge.” 

“Why go to so much trouble?” Reuenthal asked, shochu having made him curious. “Why not just decide beforehand whose turn it is?” 

“It’s an Asian thing,” Yang said, “for some families, anyway. Besides, deciding everything beforehand will just take the fun out of it.”

“Then I’ll pay next time,” Reuenthal decided, though he couldn’t see the point of it. Was it fun being the person out of pocket for a meal? “I can’t have a staffer pay for me all the time.” 

Yang looked at him for a moment, as though deciding whether to speak his mind. He thought better of it with a laugh. “We’ll see.”

#

Reuenthal’s neighbour turned out to be a worthy adversary where bill-paying was concerned, willing to resort to any number of underhanded tactics. Dinner twice a week became a game of cat and mouse, a game that Reuenthal enjoyed more than the dates he went on with women more impressed by his face or his rank than by his mind.

After one dinner where Yang called the restaurant a day in advance to pay, they agreed on some rules of engagement to make the game more interesting. No payments in advance. No restaurants belonging to friends or family. Upper budgetary limits per person. He took to carrying cash in his wallet after an incident where Yang brought them to a noodle joint that turned out to be cash-only, and began observing Yang’s hands after a night where Yang snuck in payment when he handed back the menu.

While considering his plan of attack for the evening, Reuenthal was looking through possible restaurants on his list when he was called into Reinhard’s office. General Reinhard von Lohengramm was the youngest Director of J5 ever appointed to the Joint Staff, a fast-rising star in the Army whose eventual future appointment as a Chief of Staff or more seemed inevitable. Reuenthal still wasn’t sure if he liked Reinhard, but the man’s tactical genius was unsurpassed. It made him worthy of following. 

After the debrief, Reinhard said, “How are you finding life here so far?” 

“Fine,” Reuenthal said. “Thank you, sir.” 

“I hear you moved in next to the Magician,” Reinhard said, then tilted his head as Reuenthal stiffened. “Colonel?” 

“So _that’s_ who he is,” Reuenthal said, incredulous. He’d quietly looked through the Joint Staff’s personnel roster a week ago when he still hadn’t seen Yang around the Pentagon, and hadn’t found anyone by that surname. Rear Admiral Yang ‘The Magician’ Wenli, the youngest man ever appointed to his rank. The Navy’s tactical genius. That explained the number of ranking personnel who tended to visit Yang’s home. It didn’t explain what Yang was doing idling around in this part of the world. “He told me he was part of the Joint Staff, and I assumed he was one of the civilian admin.” 

“He’s meant to be on the Joint Staff as part of Admiral Merkatz’s team, but he resigned. It’s something that he does often.”

“I heard.” Yang had first resigned when named to his rank in protest over the US drone strike programme, a move right out of the blue that surfaced as a brief blip in the 24/7 news cycle. “This would be his third time.”

“He’s refusing to return to service until after the elections, I believe. Says he wants to see if the new Commander in Chief is someone worth serving.” Reinhard smiled sharply. 

Reuenthal let out a snort. This year’s election looked to be a particularly depressing affair. Not for the first time, he was glad of the military’s standing policy of staying out of politics while in active service—at least in the open. “So we’ll see him in the Staff in another four years, then?” 

“I doubt it’d come to that. Merkatz doesn’t appear concerned.” Reinhard sounded disapproving. “I’m surprised Yang even has the option to return. By all logic, his career should’ve been terminal the first time he resigned.” 

“Navy’s a strange place,” Reuenthal said. It weighed on his mind for the rest of the day, even as he drove Yang out to dinner. 

In the car, Yang gave him a long, inscrutable once over as Reuenthal made a show of concentrating on traffic. “You’re quiet today,” Yang said. 

“Work matters. Which you’d know of, if you actually worked.” Reuenthal fired this rejoinder at Yang now and then. Yang normally laughed.

Today, Yang settled back in the passenger seat and folded his arms. “Did you finally find out who I was?” 

“How’d you guess?” 

“I would’ve told you if you asked.”

“Would you?” Yang had been gracefully evasive all this time, quick to change the subject if it came to work. 

“…Eh,” Yang said, scratching his head and looking sheepish. “Probably.”

“Was it that funny? Pretending to be a civilian staffer?” 

“Surely no civilian staffer would have Commanders and Captains and such calling on their house so often.” 

“I thought you were just fortunate to have many friends.”

“All of whom thought it necessary to visit in uniform?” True. That had been odd. Reuenthal grunted. Before he could speak, Yang conceded, “It was maybe a little selfish of me.” 

“Maybe?” 

Yang gestured helplessly at himself. “It’s good being able to talk to someone who doesn’t have prepackaged opinions about me.” 

“I’ve made up for it now,” Reuenthal muttered. Yang chuckled. Dinner was strained in a way it’d never been before, reminding Reuenthal of a boxing match he’d watched once in a naval gym, both trained contestants circling each other in quiet. The restaurant, an overpriced pasta bar, had decent starters: meatballs slathered in rich tomato sauce and buried under shaved parmesan, lightly grilled ox tongue, fresh focaccia fingers with a side of house cream cheese. The pasta itself came in smaller portions than Reuenthal would prefer, and the dessert, the house tiramisu, was average. 

Yang looked thoughtful as they walked out of the restaurant after. “When did you pay? I didn’t see it.” 

“When I booked the restaurant I told them to put it on my tab.” 

Yang turned to look over his shoulder at the understated, monochrome entrance. “A place like that would accept a tab?”

“I emailed them from my Pentagon work account.” 

Yang stared at him. He laughed, shaking his head, and it felt as though the tension from the night shook loose. “I thought we agreed on no pre-payment.”

“This isn’t a pre-payment. I’ll settle the tab tomorrow.” 

“We should add this to our rules of engagement.” 

“If you like, though using the same tactic more than once would be boring.” 

“True. You’re not boring at all,” Yang said with a warm smile, one that lingered in Reuenthal’s mind even after he’d driven them home, the open fondness in Yang’s eyes chasing Reuenthal into his dreams.

#

Reuenthal opened the door as Yang’s finger poised over the bell. “Yes?”

“Ah, sorry to bother,” Yang said, perhaps startled by Reuenthal’s curt tone. Sunday mornings never saw Reuenthal at his best. He often had company over, or went drinking with Mittermeier until late. Recently, it was usually more of the latter. 

Reuenthal stifled a yawn. “What do you want?”

“You didn’t answer your phone, so I thought I’d just ring your bell, sorry if I woke you up—” Yang winced at a faint thump inside Reuenthal’s home, then at something that sounded like plastic being rapidly crinkled. “Oh, er, sorry about this.” He pushed past Reuenthal, making a beeline for the noise.

In the kitchen, Admiral looked up guiltily from the plastic bin liner it was chewing on and mewled as Yang scooped him up. The open window and a wet paw mark on the sill told Reuenthal where the bloody cat had gotten in. He exhaled, cutting through Yang’s awkward apologies with, “Coffee?”

“Er, sure. I’ll be right back,” Yang said, hoisting Admiral in his arms. “Sorry for waking you up.” His gaze tracked slowly up from Reuenthal’s navel to his neck: Reuenthal had slept shirtless due to the warm night. As Reuenthal tilted his head, Yang mumbled something and scooted off, his ears reddening. 

Left to himself in the kitchen, Reuenthal smirked. He pulled on a button-up shirt but left it open as he made coffee, glancing up as Yang returned with a packet of mochi. “Breakfast?” Yang asked.

“That’s what you eat for breakfast?” Reuenthal asked as he waved Yang to the small dining table near the kitchen island. 

“Not really. Walter brought it in the other day from some shop that he liked… ah, Commander Walter von Schönkopf. You might have seen him now and then.” 

“Shouldn’t you eat it yourself?” 

“I wouldn’t be able to finish it. Everyone brings me food for some reason. They keep forgetting that I’m an adult,” Yang said, opening the packet over Reuenthal’s table and getting powdered sugar everywhere. 

“Would an adult repeatedly resign his commission?” Reuenthal asked as he primed the coffee machine. “How do you like your coffee?” 

“Black, no cream, two sugars. Thanks.” Yang popped a mochi into his mouth. The walk home appeared to have given him some composure: he gave no indication that he’d been caught gawking only a short while ago.

“What do you normally do on Sundays?” Reuenthal asked. 

“Sit at home and read or watch Netflix, I think.”

“How does that change from what you do on a weekday?”

“It doesn’t,” Yang said, shameless to the end, “save that on a weekday I get any number of people who might drop by to ‘have a chat’ about some situation or another.” 

“You might as well return to your job, if right now all you’re doing is effectively working for free,” Reuenthal pointed out.

“I’ve thought about it, but no. Maybe I should just move out further away. Somewhere hard to get to, perhaps, like Alaska.” 

“There’s phone coverage in Alaska.” 

“I don’t answer the phone. That’s why people have to drop by if they want to talk to me about anything,” Yang said, sipping his coffee. 

“Unbelievable,” Reuenthal said, chuckling. 

“You laughed.”

“Just amused at what the Navy’s willing to tolerate in its high command.” 

“Don’t look at me. I’d have been happy to resign forever from the beginning. Retire on my savings and maybe start a business.”

“You? You’re too lazy to run a successful business.” 

“I could teach,” Yang said, rubbing his chin. 

“That’d be even worse. You’d pass on your bad habits to the next generation.” 

“I guess I could marry rich and live as a kept man,” Yang said and laughed as Reuenthal couldn’t help but grimace.

“Who’d be willing to do that for your lazy ass?” It was Reuenthal’s turn to have to compose himself. Yang’s casual suggestion irritated him more than it should, given it was obviously a joke. He ate one of the mochi, making a face at the too-sweet treat. “Finish your coffee and meet me outside in ten minutes. We’ll go for a proper breakfast.”

#

The interior of Yang’s home was a nightmare. Reuenthal stared at the disaster zone in a daze as Yang pottered around looking for cups in his kitchen, almost every clean surface walled in with boxes of biscuits, packs of instant noodles, long-life milk and tinned soup. He’d left his shoes just within the front door as directed. Given the state of the house, however, Reuenthal was little wary of subjecting even his socked feet to the tiles. To say Yang’s house was messy would be an understatement: it was more junk collection than house, a dense warren of teetering towers of books, overflowing boxes of gewgaws, and files.

“Sorry about the mess,” Yang said in a way that indicated he’d only said it out of reflex.

“This isn’t a mess,” Reuenthal said slowly, looking around him. “It’s a disaster zone. How do you live like this?”

“I make do,” Yang said, waving Reuenthal to one of the few chairs unburdened by books. “A housekeeper comes by twice a week.” 

“Surely you…” Reuenthal rubbed at his temple. He kept his own home strictly neat, with everything in place. “No. You can’t live like this. Surely you don’t need everything in here. I don’t even. No. Let’s move to my place.” He’d come over to ask Yang’s opinion obliquely on a policy matter. 

Yang chuckled, but allowed himself to be drawn over to Reuenthal’s house. As Reuenthal moved to make coffee, Yang said, “Black tea, if you have it. Top it up with brandy.” 

“What sort of drink is that?” 

“If you want me to think some problem through, that’s what I want to drink.”

Reuenthal located an old box of tea from an ex that must’ve been packed in with his things. A dusty bottle of brandy lurked in his small collection of hard liquor. Yang hummed as he brought the strange concoction to his mouth, taking a deep sniff. He closed his eyes. “What did you need?” Yang asked.

As Reuenthal explained the issue in circumspect terms, Yang said not a word, only occasionally sipping at his tea. After the debrief, Yang said, “Surely you have a plan moving forward. If not you, then General Reinhard, or Colonel Mittermeier. You and Mittermeier are highly competent, and Reinhard is a genius.” 

“As you are,” Reuenthal said. 

“Would he welcome my opinion?” Yang said with a lopsided curl to his mouth, opening his eyes. 

“Reinhard is young and has a young man’s ego, but it doesn’t blind him to the opinions of others.” Most of the time. 

“Ah well, since you gave me tea and brandy.” Yang began to outline a solution that even Reinhard hadn’t considered, a plan of attack both elegant and unorthodox. It was neither a glorious plan nor a particularly honourable one, but it did have a higher chance of success without casualties compared to the ones Reuenthal had heard, and he said so.

“Honour? Glory?” Yang sniffed loudly and finished his tea. “Leave those to history and films.”

“You’re as decorated a soldier as I am,” Reuenthal said, having looked up Yang’s record. “You don’t lack for courage.” 

“I make a distinction between courage and pride,” Yang said, drawing an invisible line on the table before his cup with a finger. “Results that don’t minimise suffering—that don’t consider collateral damage—aren’t honourable. They’re prideful. Force should be a solution of absolute last resort, and once chosen, should be exercised with restraint.”

“You should resist the urge to return to your commission, if that’s what you believe,” Reuenthal said, startled by the sudden sharpness of Yang’s tone. “Become a historian. Write a book, perhaps. Compose a fantasy where wars can be won without collateral damage.” 

“There shouldn’t be wars at all. I wish the world didn’t need people like you or me, or like Reinhard. We live in a time where people have set foot on the moon, where we can send messages across the world in an eyeblink, where we have centuries of art, literature, music and more. Why does war still exist?”

“Because despite what you’d like, only a tiny fraction of the world can afford to live the way we do,” Reuenthal said, sipping his coffee. “It will get worse. Cities are running out of water; natural disasters are getting worse, entire swathes of the world will soon become unliveable. What resort do those people have then but war? It is the story of our species.” 

“I don’t believe that,” Yang said, low and fierce. “I refuse to believe that. We must be able to do better. Otherwise, what is the point of it all?” 

“There _is_ no point. Life has no greater meaning, no grand design. We’re here for a number of decades, and then we die, and most of us will never be remembered.” 

“Knowing that life is short shouldn’t stop us from spending it in a way that will do some good before we go.” The gentle, lazy man Reuenthal knew as his neighbour was gone, a facade torn away to show the steel beneath. Good. Reuenthal preferred this new side of Yang, a side that he’d suspected was there, deep down. A soft and indolent man wouldn’t have risen so quickly in the ranks, no matter how talented he was. 

“How did an idealist come to join the Navy?” Reuenthal asked, having wondered this himself now and then. 

“I went to college on an NROTC program and couldn’t seem to stop getting promoted,” Yang said. Reuenthal found modesty tedious, but Yang’s matter-of-fact words weren’t modest. Yang was too uncomplicated for modesty. It made what Reuenthal wanted from him easier to express. 

“Thanks for your insight,” Reuenthal said. He reached over to press his palm over Yang’s, stroking the knuckles lightly as Yang straightened up with a slow breath. “Allow me to thank you with dinner. My treat. Someplace nice.” 

“Don’t we usually go to nice places?” Yang said. He didn’t move his hand. 

“Someplace nicer. Out of our agreed budgetary range. I’ll pay.” 

Yang pursed his lips, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “We’ll see about that.”

#

Reuenthal had taken a date to the Restaurant at Patowmack Farm once. He remembered little about the date other than the food had been great but that the drive to the restaurant had been a chore, one that he hadn’t been willing to repeat for future dates. With Yang, the steep drive up a gravel road somehow passed more quickly as they bickered over obscure policies and discussed departmental gossip, something that Yang appeared far more invested in. They were given a prime table under the covered outdoor seating, with a sprawling view of the hills and the Potomac River. Yang found the cocktail menu amusing enough to order a peanut-infused whiskey, while Reuenthal opted for a glass of local wine.

“I haven’t been here before,” Yang said as he took a photo of the view. “Heard good things, though.” 

“I have. It’s not bad.” 

“You take your dates here?” 

“Only the ones I like,” Reuenthal said, and made a show of looking Yang over. Yang chuckled, glancing away into the restaurant. 

“I can’t compare with all the pretty girls I see coming in and out of your house.” 

“You don’t. You’re far more interesting.” 

“Don’t be sexist, Colonel.” 

“I’m not casting aspersions on their gender but on my previous choices of companions,” Reuenthal said, affecting surprise. “Is this a date, Yang?” 

“Wouldn’t you like it to be?” Yang countered. 

“If it were, I should be the one paying.”

“On the contrary, that means I should cover the bill. No self-respecting Asian man would go out on a date without paying.”

“What happens if it’s two Asian men?” Reuenthal asked. 

“Then an all-out war for the bill breaks out over the dinnerware,” Yang said, “and I usually win.” 

“With your underhanded tactics, I presume. Your strategies have a major weakness.” 

“Pray tell.” 

“This bill-paying custom of yours strangely counts successes through a stealth payment, despite there being a limited number of culprits in the pool,” Reuenthal pointed out. “It’s hardly a stretch of the imagination to work out who’s done it.” 

“It’s considered immodest to make a show of paying for the table, but considered generous to sneak in payment before the other party can do so. It’s how it is.” 

“ _I_ don’t care about appearances.” Reuenthal motioned the maitre’d over, handing over his card. “Put the eventual bill on this, please.” He smiled challengingly at Yang as the maitre’d took the card in confusion. 

“Please don’t let him do that.” Yang pulled out his wallet. “It’ll be terribly embarrassing for me. I’m his boss, you see.” He handed over his business card along with a credit card. The maitre’d’s eyebrows shot up at the insignia and rank on Yang’s card. Turning pale and stammering an apology to Reuenthal, he put Reuenthal’s card back on the table and retreated with Yang’s. 

“…You goddamned _liar_ ,” Reuenthal hissed after he recovered from his shock. “You aren’t in my chain of command. Hell, you’re not even technically in the Navy right now.” 

“It worked, didn’t it?” Yang said, unrepentant. He had the grace not to be smug. Dinner was excellent, and while Reuenthal’s unceremonious defeat on the matter of payment made him prickly, the decent wine soon soothed down his hackles. By the time they reached a dessert of peaches and puffed rice, Reuenthal had mellowed down enough to enjoy the company. 

Deciding that Reuenthal was too tipsy to drive, Yang got into the driver’s seat of Reuenthal’s silver Jaguar. It growled as it came to life, and Yang pulled a face. “A manual car,” he complained. 

“What about it? It’s a sports car.” 

“It’s going to be fun making it down the slope in this at this time of night.” 

“If you can’t handle it, I’ll drive.” 

“That’d send us flying off the wrong side of the slope, probably. No.” For all his complaints, Yang appeared to be an adequate hand at the wheel, if a cautious driver. “Rather a flashy car for your pay grade.” 

“I’m a bachelor with simple vices. What do you spend your money on?” 

“It’s in the bank, mostly. Some investments. I can’t be bothered to manage it.” 

“If you were even fractionally less lazy—”

“Save it. I hear that lecture from Merkatz about once a week. More, if he’s in a bad mood. Now be quiet, please.” 

Once they parked in Reuenthal’s driveway, Reuenthal made a show of letting out a sigh of relief. Yang chuckled. “It wasn’t that bad.” 

“I briefly regretted the fact that I haven’t written my will.”

“Don’t exaggerate,” Yang said as he got out of the car. He hesitated instead of wishing Reuenthal good night the way he usually did after a dinner like this, lingering indecisively by the car. Reuenthal held his gaze quietly. Yang ducked his head with a small smile. “How do you normally end one of your dates?” he asked.

“I’m sure you’ve guessed.” Reuenthal beckoned. They made it to his bed with little mishap, losing shoes and bits of clothing on the way. Reuenthal grew hungry as he kissed the brilliant, infuriating man in his arms, as he tipped them over onto his bed. Yang’s body was lean but soft under his button-up shirt, warm to the touch. 

“I didn’t think you liked men,” Yang said as Reuenthal worked on his belt. 

“People are largely the same to me,” Reuenthal said, kissing Yang between his eyes. “I find only a few worthy of further interest.”

“Glad to see you think I’m just like your other dates,” Yang said, though he ran his hands appreciatively down the muscle packed over Reuenthal’s flanks. 

“Hardly. None of the others ever pulled rank to pay for dinner.” 

“You’re still upset about that?” Yang said, so amused that Reuenthal bit him as they kissed, marking his way down Yang’s throat. As he pressed his tongue to a nipple, Yang hissed and pushed a palm against Reuenthal’s shoulder, urging him onto his back. He straddled Reuenthal’s hips, looking him wonderingly over in the dim light from the table lamp. Yang trailed his fingertips appreciatively down Reuenthal’s skin, lingering over the scars. 

“Boot camp,” Reuenthal said before Yang could ask. “It isn’t an interesting story.” 

“Are you normally this honest to the people you take to bed?” Yang said, bending to kiss one scar, then the next. Reuenthal stroked Yang’s hair, biting down groans. He didn’t usually owe honesty to the people he took to bed, who featured in his life as inconstant bookmarks. Yang was something more, a moreness that Reuenthal had no words to describe. Yang huffed as he kissed down Reuenthal’s hips to brush his lips playfully against the sensitive inner flesh of Reuenthal’s thighs, tracing his tongue against the muscle. 

“Tickles,” Reuenthal complained. He cursed as Yang nipped him, then arched with a groan as Yang set an arm over his waist and bent to kiss the tip of Reuenthal’s cock. “Yang,” Reuenthal growled. 

“Hai, hai.” Yang took Reuenthal into his mouth, drinking him down with surprising relish. Having half-expected Yang to be as lazy about this as he was with the rest of his life, Reuenthal bit off a groan as Yang took him in enthusiastically, closing his fingers over what he could swallow and being loud about it, muffling choked-off moans as Reuenthal’s hips twitched up. It felt surreal doing this to Yang; hell, to have Yang urge him with frantic tugs to move, to rock into the wet pressure around his cock until the rhythm Yang set for them broke into a frantic rush of moans and heat. Reuenthal gasped Yang’s name as pleasure spiked through him, his hands clenching tight over Yang’s shoulders.

Yang smiled as he wiped his mouth, having swallowed what he could. He hummed as Reuenthal pulled him down, but shook his head as Reuenthal reached for him only to find him already spent. “It’s been a while,” Yang rasped, then yawned and snuggled close, dropping off quickly before Reuenthal could speak.

#

In the morning, as Reuenthal grudgingly made breakfast and coffee for them both, Yang said, “We should do lunch.”

“I have work to do. Unlike some people.” 

Yang picked up his phone. “I’ll call Reinhard and ask him to excuse you for the day in the name of inter-departmental cooperation—”

“ _No._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: @manic_intent  
> fics, original work, prompt policy: manicintent.carrd.co  
> \--  
> Refs:  
> I had to look up where military people who work in the Pentagon usually live haha, given I’ve never been to that part of the world before. IDK if any Actual US Military people will ever read this story but if so, lol sorry for all the handwave. Also, Army people would usually use a lot of slang when talking to each other, but since LOGH doesn’t use military slang, I’m leaving it out of this fic. 
> 
> https://www.quora.com/Where-would-you-live-in-Washington-DC-if-you-worked-at-the-Pentagon  
> https://beltwaymilitaryliving.com/blog/best-neighborhoods-near-pentagon/  
> https://www.defensenews.com/pentagon/2020/01/29/unbelievably-ridiculous-four-star-general-seeks-to-clean-up-pentagons-classification-process/
> 
> The Restaurant at Patowmack Farm “is like coming up for air after your first kiss: you’ve never had anything like it before and you HAVE to do it again” haha. TBH the menu rn looks strange to me (It’s Vietnamese but the chef isn’t Vietnamese?) but welp, I’d probably try it.  
> https://www.thrillist.com/eat/washington-dc/virginia-has-some-mighty-fine-restaurants-these-are-the-best-of-them  
> https://www.cntraveler.com/restaurants/lovettsville/the-restaurant-at-patowmack-farm


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